


Be My Muse (Colours)

by Sophieistrash



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon's hasty, Family Friendly, First Kiss, Fluff, I don't even know anymore, M/M, PG clean, Ryan changes his mind fast af, Ryan's a poet, Train AU, You'll see what I'm talking about, as always, don't ask why, i mean what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophieistrash/pseuds/Sophieistrash
Summary: Back home his best friend Spencer, told him to open up more and live a little. He was exactly going to do just that.~"Sure. Why not? I need a muse you need a muse. It's convenient."





	Be My Muse (Colours)

**Author's Note:**

> Poet! Ryan meets Singer! Brendon on a train. That's all. I haven't written anything in ages so bear with me.
> 
> Enjoy :)  
> -Soph x

The time was somewhere between dawn and the actual sunrise. Vibrant oranges, soft reds and mellow yellows danced together above the awakening fields of Portland, where the tulips were still budding in the early days of April. Fuchsia, aubergine, mauve, bumblebee, and honey were the colours the young man -a passanger of a seemingly "never-stopping" train- could name as he looked at the marvelous landscape.

He couldn't have been more than twenty-five; a notebook laid open in his lap, deep brown eyes scanning the outside world with such a deep interest, he didn't notice the other figure entering the cabin. He was a poet after all. A traveller. A struggling artist who somehow still managed to get by. Who could blame him for tuning out his surroundings, really?

After the lack of response to his quiet greeting, the new boy silently sat down across from the star-struck brunette. He carefully studied him, arms crossed over his chest, thinking whether he should try to talk to him or leave him be. He sneaked a glance at the neglected notebook that belonged to the stranger just to see a name written on it messily.

_Ryan_

Ryan. He repeated the name in his head, playing with the thought of saying it out loud -you know, just to try how it rolled off his tongue. 

The boy- Ryan - leaned closer to the cold window, wiping at the thin glass with his sleeve which was covered by his breath. He let out a faint sigh and glanced down at his notebook then flipped it over. He picked up his pen, scrabbling down a few lines to his new poem.

_Lost_

_I'm on the road again,_  
No aim, just this old rusty train,  
All these cabins are the same,  
But who is there for it to blame? 

_I can feel something,_  
An odd presence,  
An indifferent longing,  
It must be pure pretence. 

_What is it?  
Whe- _

Ryan heard shuffling, like somebody adjusted themselves in their seat. He carefully looked up meeting said someone's eyes. Rich brown irises hid behind slim black frames with perfect matching eyebrows, hair like silk atop his head, full pink lips and a slight stubble.

"Took you long enough to notice me." He spoke up with a playful smile, pulling his legs closer to his body.

Ryan raised an eyebrow at him, mouth slightly ajar from the shock this man had caused him.

When did he get here seriously?

"How long?" Was the question that Ryan could finally put together.

The stranger glanced down at his watch and shrugged. "Like ten minutes? Maybe fifteen. Yeah, definitely fifteen."

The poet subtly closed his notebook with the pen inside. He was not sure why this guy was talking to him in the first place. He ignored him for a quarter of an hour yet he still seemed like he didn't mind. Ryan was a good observer so even after less than a minute of looking at his companion, he noticed that he didn't have anything on him. Luggage-wise of course. No suitcase, no jacket, hell he was sure he didn't see a phone either! Where did this guy come from? Where was he heading?

"Brendon."

"Huh?" Ryan made eye contact with him once again.

Okay, he had a hoodie with a huge pocket on his stomach. And was that a guitar bag next to him?

"The name's Brendon. Nice to meet you." He chirped, restlessly tapping on his thighs when he didn't get a response or any kind of sign which showed that Ryan acknowledged him at least.

Ryan just stared at him blankly with a scowl deforming his features. And after a minute of two he snapped out of his neverending trance.  
"Hi?"

The boy so called Brendon looked awfully familiar to him in a way he could not quite describe. Or maybe he was too stunning, he was not sure why it was so hard to look away from him.

"I'm Ryan, by the way."

Brendon hummed then motioned at Ryan's now closed notebook. "I know." He chuckled. "I like your name. Suits you."

Ryan followed his gaze he already knew what he meant, though. That damned notebook. He thought opening his bag and stuffing the aforementioned object inside.

"Thanks." The light brunette mumbled but couldn't hide his tiny smile that's been tugging on his lips ever since he noticed Brendon.

"What have you been writing? If - uh- if you don't mind me asking." Brendon grinned sheepishly searching for any sort of discomfort in Ryan's eyes.

"Just stuff." Ryan shrugged and bit the inside of his cheeks. 

He wasn't going to let him know what he did for a living , no chance. 

"As for someone who could be an author, poet, dramatist, playreader and whatnot, you sure aren't talkative. And before you ask why I think that, you were using an actual pen to write so I just assumed. I'm not a psycho, stalker or whatever your first impression of me was." Brendon noted, clicking his tongue. 

The poet only nodded at that -if he would've received a dollar each time somebody had told him about his lack of speaking skills, he would be a millionaire by now. Besides, Brendon had no right to know about his profession, and that's that.

However, the other way around it was acceptable for Ryan apparently.

"And you? What are you doing on a train at 4 am with hardly anything but a guitar bag, and presumably the instrument itself?" He inquired as he gave him a once-over, not like he hadn't already memorized the boy inch by inch before him.

Brendon wasn't taken aback by that question at all. He shrugged once again like there was nothing to worry about in the whole world.

"I'm a musician. A solo artist... Just a singer from now on." Although, his smile faded for a millisecond after the last part he managed to paint it back onto his face.

However, 'Avoiding questions, I see' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue he let it slide. They were even on this department for now.

"My bandmates left me -in case you were wondering." The singer continued. "And now I'm off to nowhere."

"Same." Ryan chuckled for the first time in forever. "With being off to nowhere I mean." He clarified.

Brendon broke into an enormous grin, pearly whites flashing. "I'm looking for a muse to be honest. An inspiration to write songs about. Even though I'm not that good with lyrics. I wouldn't mind a helping hand with that, you know."

Ryan flushed. This boy confused him. Was he flirting with him or just trying to push his buttons until he confessed and showed him his poem?

No matter how appealing the first option sounded, Ryan settled for a more rational reply. "I don't write lyrics."

Seeing Brendon's frown and pout Ryan couldn't resist and added. "But I could give it a try."

"Really?" The dark-haired boy's eyes lit up as he sat up straighter. 

"Maybe." 

Back home his best friend Spencer, told him to open up more and live a little. He was exactly going to do just that. He felt like he could do with a muse as well and Brendon seemed the perfect choice for this. He still haven't figured out how it could work. They barely just met on a shitty train that won't go further than Seattle - he was surely going insane.

"We could totally rent a place in Seattle then start working." Brendon was so quick with this idea Ryan didn't understand how.

The man was literally bouncing in his seat when he was supposed to be drowsy, tired and nowhere near enthusiastic.

This was the bravest and most inconsiderate decision that the poet was about to make. 

"Sure. Why not? I need a muse you need a muse. It's convenient." 

Was he high? Drunk? He wouldn't have said those things so carelessly even if he was.

"Oh my, god!" Brendon exclaimed jumping up from his seat and landing next to Ryan. "Thank you!" He pulled him in for a hug as close as their sitting position let him. "This is going to be an adventure. I'm sure of it."

"Yeah. Right."

"Hey, don't be so gloomy. I thought you liked me." Brendon slapped his chest playfully an arm still over Ryan's shoulder.

"Oh, I do like you. Especially those magenta lips and golden eyes of yours."

Let's blame this on Ryan's tiredness, shall we?

"How poetic of you." Brendon hummed with a small smirk. "I'm glad you're interested or else this muse thing wouldn't work out so well."

"True. So, be my muse?"

As Ryan turned his head he was met by the pair of those magenta lips crashing against his. He closed his eyes as soon as he realised what was happening and kissed back tilting his head to the side to put more pressure into it. Brendon tasted like berries, vanilla and colours. A loads of colours that Ryan could write about for years.

Ryan tasted like almond and something sweet but not annoyingly sweet. Brendon could work with that for decades.

So they did just that.


End file.
